His murmurings are processed carefully, for they are spoken so they may not be ignored. He had warned in such a manner to make it undeniably clear that he would kill her did she not heed his words, and at that, her nails dig into his wrist just ever so slightly. Where she may have agreed to take him into the world of light which he so desired to rule, she was far from being that disposable. She was nothing if not a woman of thought and action. She would need to reserve herself until she knew his intentions fully. Where she loathed the Twili peoples’ opinion to make Zant the King, she wished them no true harm. Who was she to know if this man would not come for her world once he conquered that of one opposite? Who was she to know what his defined intentions were?
For truthfully, he was a man of power. He held a fractioned reserve; she felt it radiating off him like a current. Power which she so craved, it almost had her leaning into him as it was. But doing such a thing would be far too obvious if she carried it out, would it not?
“I am not a mere pawn,” she murmured carefully, stepping back from him, or at least, as far back as would allow. His hold on her hair remained fixed, and breaking it would be cause for problems. To do so would be to spread her tresses, undoubtedly snapping his wrist, or at the very least make him wince. That would anger him—she knew it without question. The real question was, how far could she push him before he turned on her? There was only one way of finding out, for she certainly was not going to tolerate his tugging her around like some disobedient dog on a leash.
With lift akin to that of a hand, her sunset locks twisted in his grip, expanding so he could no longer wrap his fingers around them, and once free, they pushed him back. Not exactly roughly, but enough to allow the monarch to be some breathing room. She found it hard to gather her thoughts properly when he leaned too close—whether that was the excess of power he gave off, his sheer size or words alone was better left unsaid. Florid eyes narrowed ever so slightly. She did not like feeling weak, feeling apprehensive to push him away—she liked to be sure of her actions, and yet, she waited on the other end for some form of punishment.
She steeled herself, tipping her chin ever so defiantly as her hair fluttered with the breeze, entirely innocent. She may have needed him to rule this realm, to rule over the Twili, but she was not to be handled in such a manner. She was not some toy for his amusement, not something he could mess with to slate his boredom. She would not fall to his hands for his solitary enjoyment. Had his intentions been to be rough with her and demean her in any way possible, he was sorely mistaken. If he was going to be pulling moves such as these, so would she. “You have my word. But you do not my have body, nor my blood. Do not make me give you either.”
Sheer control was needed to curb the seething rage that burned under his skin. Wanting nothing more than to lash out and make the usurped royal to submit to him as was his nature to do so. Using physical power to make those bend to his will. Yet he did not. Her hair was able to release itself from his vice grip with ease, the only indication of his annoyance towards her action was the vein that pulsed on his temple. Along with the darkening of tawny hues which looked as if a storm was brewing within them. Howerever he was able to keep his small facade up, composure was still intact despite the lengthening silence shared between them. Surely this woman knew better, could see & even feel the power that was seen not just by his immense size but by the power (or rather darkness) that leaked out of every pore of his body.
With teeth bared, in both as a threat & fabricated niceties. Excerting his dominance as he inched near and invaded her private space once more. His now free hand did not reach for her hair but instead the chin that was lifted in disobedience against him. He would consent with her boldness for the time being, even the strongest would be able to be nothing more than a broken heap after much training. Grabbing hold of her, thumb pressed against the front of her chin while two fingers were on the underside. Applying pressure but not enough to cause bruising.
❝ You drive a hard bargain for a yet to be queen. ❞
Commenting as he inspected her face, his eyes clearly objectifying her and it was obvious to anyone that he hardly saw her as his equal. While he was aware of the extent of her power (to some degree) he would never acknowledge her stronger than him, call it his own ego for thinking of that. A man of pride.
❝ But i'll consent for now, o'highness. ❞
Bowing his head down towards her in a mocking manner, this was no different to him trying to conspire against the past king of hyrule. Eventually the man was nothing more than dead weight and a kingdom became rightfully his. Cordial mannerisms would aide him once more, but he figured that this royal was a bit more keen than the deceased sovereign.
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